Important Advice, and a bit about Birthdays
I have a lot to write about. However, lest you get your collective hopes up too high, I must warn you now that all of it is, as are most things that concern me, totally irrelevant. However, now that you're here, (deep breath) which is a considerably more than slightly surprising occurrence in itself, keeping in mind that it has been close to a year since I last posted anything substantial, and a lot more than that since I posted anything even remotely interesting or humorous, but we shall talk more about that later, primarily since it would necessitate me harping on about my lack of motivation and my readership's lack of what is known commonly as a 'life', and I do not feel much like either today, being in a greatly and, if possible, more than usual self-congratulatory frame of mind, and understanding that I can ill-afford to insult my already dwindling audience, for the fear of making them turn away in disgust on realizing the pointlessness of their own existence (phew!), I urge you to stay and read on, the post's complete lack of significance notwithstanding.
Today I shall talk about birthdays. Or more specifically about my alarming proficiency at forgetting them.
I can't remember birthdays. I just can't. Don't ask me why, for if I knew, I would have long ago found a remedy to the situation. But as things stand, I can't and therefore, quite simply, don't. I am one of those few people who have managed to, in the same year, forget all the birthdays in my family, save mine, which I remembered sometime halfway into the morning, when I was wished by a close friend at college (which leads me to wonder that had it been a weekend, would I have discovered at all). My family, needless to say, was less than ecstatic at my complete lack of acknowledgment on their birthdays, especially my sister, who completely refused to talk to me till a few days and a couple of very expensive belated birthday gifts later.
The point I am trying to make is that I am pathetic at remembering birthdays, as any of you even slightly acquainted with me would probably know. Relations, girlfriends, fellow students, old contacts and even distant acquaintances (in my defense, the last quite justifiably), have all bore the brunt of the famed 'Manu Saxena Selective Amnesia' (or MuSSA for short) when it comes to birth dates.
And the strangest bit is, from what little I know of myself, MuSSA doesn't even have any logical or personal basis for its existence. I mean, I am a fairly sane individual. As far as my memory goes, I have never received any complaints, and have no reasons to doubt its soundness. I am not bad with dates per se, and always have been an excellent History student, always performing well above average and with a sterling reputation for remembering facts and figures. My learning-by-rote skills have always been the envy of most, proving that my retention is, and always has been, unquestionably impeccable. Ask me random dates from the Lord Of The Rings Trilogy, like the day Frodo was attacked on Weathertop, and I shall tell you, without pausing for a moment's thought, but ask me my best friends' birthdays, and all I'll probably be able to give you is roughly the quarter of the year they lie in, and that too after much nail-biting and brow-furrowing deliberation.
So why is it that I cannot remember people's birthdays, even the ones' I have known intimately over a period spanning a number of years, and with whom I have celebrated many of these very birthdays that trouble me so?
If any of you would happen to know, or even have a hypotheses or an at-first-seemingly-inaccurate conjecture as to the reason behind this apparent malady of mine, please do let me know, for I desperately seek help.
In the meantime I shall look for alternative ways to remember these irksome birthdays that trouble me so, so that I can prevent offending any more people, for I have already offended many, and further alienating some may lead to potentially dire consequences.
Maybe I'll start keeping a diary, a journal of sorts, where I record birthdays and names (No, no, they've never given me any trouble, but just a list of birth dates would kind of defeat the entire purpose, don't you think?). Or maybe I'll revert to using the knowledge given to us by our ancient civilizations, which told us how to find out a person's exact age (to the day, I have heard) by processing physical attributes like body structure, weight, height, face-shape, amount of hair, skin complexion, number of eyelashes, color of teeth, ratio of thumb-to-finger thickness, body hair, bald patches, and a variety of other easily observable characteristics that we usually consider quite useless.
Or I could start using Orkut. It's almost as accurate, from what I am told.
That done with, I shall now move on to the actual reason I am writing this post, which is passing on a piece of sound advice to all my readers, for I am a firm believer in learning from others' mistakes, and I would hate nothing more than all of you making the same mistake that I did, simply because I was too lazy to pass on my life's learnings, thinking, only too selfishly, that no good could come of it, and failing to realize that it may, in fact, lead many to salvage a lot more when faced by a somewhat similar situation.
Never underestimate a woman's intelligence. It can lead to potentially fatal consequences.
My primary aim fulfilled, I think I shall go now. However, before I bid adieu, I shall leave you with the Sasta for the Day.
There are, primarily, three races of man.
The 100 meter race, the 400 meter race, and the Marathon.
The date, incidentally, was 6th October, 3018 (1418, Shire-Reckoning).
Today I shall talk about birthdays. Or more specifically about my alarming proficiency at forgetting them.
I can't remember birthdays. I just can't. Don't ask me why, for if I knew, I would have long ago found a remedy to the situation. But as things stand, I can't and therefore, quite simply, don't. I am one of those few people who have managed to, in the same year, forget all the birthdays in my family, save mine, which I remembered sometime halfway into the morning, when I was wished by a close friend at college (which leads me to wonder that had it been a weekend, would I have discovered at all). My family, needless to say, was less than ecstatic at my complete lack of acknowledgment on their birthdays, especially my sister, who completely refused to talk to me till a few days and a couple of very expensive belated birthday gifts later.
The point I am trying to make is that I am pathetic at remembering birthdays, as any of you even slightly acquainted with me would probably know. Relations, girlfriends, fellow students, old contacts and even distant acquaintances (in my defense, the last quite justifiably), have all bore the brunt of the famed 'Manu Saxena Selective Amnesia' (or MuSSA for short) when it comes to birth dates.
And the strangest bit is, from what little I know of myself, MuSSA doesn't even have any logical or personal basis for its existence. I mean, I am a fairly sane individual. As far as my memory goes, I have never received any complaints, and have no reasons to doubt its soundness. I am not bad with dates per se, and always have been an excellent History student, always performing well above average and with a sterling reputation for remembering facts and figures. My learning-by-rote skills have always been the envy of most, proving that my retention is, and always has been, unquestionably impeccable. Ask me random dates from the Lord Of The Rings Trilogy, like the day Frodo was attacked on Weathertop, and I shall tell you, without pausing for a moment's thought, but ask me my best friends' birthdays, and all I'll probably be able to give you is roughly the quarter of the year they lie in, and that too after much nail-biting and brow-furrowing deliberation.
So why is it that I cannot remember people's birthdays, even the ones' I have known intimately over a period spanning a number of years, and with whom I have celebrated many of these very birthdays that trouble me so?
If any of you would happen to know, or even have a hypotheses or an at-first-seemingly-inaccurate conjecture as to the reason behind this apparent malady of mine, please do let me know, for I desperately seek help.
In the meantime I shall look for alternative ways to remember these irksome birthdays that trouble me so, so that I can prevent offending any more people, for I have already offended many, and further alienating some may lead to potentially dire consequences.
Maybe I'll start keeping a diary, a journal of sorts, where I record birthdays and names (No, no, they've never given me any trouble, but just a list of birth dates would kind of defeat the entire purpose, don't you think?). Or maybe I'll revert to using the knowledge given to us by our ancient civilizations, which told us how to find out a person's exact age (to the day, I have heard) by processing physical attributes like body structure, weight, height, face-shape, amount of hair, skin complexion, number of eyelashes, color of teeth, ratio of thumb-to-finger thickness, body hair, bald patches, and a variety of other easily observable characteristics that we usually consider quite useless.
Or I could start using Orkut. It's almost as accurate, from what I am told.
That done with, I shall now move on to the actual reason I am writing this post, which is passing on a piece of sound advice to all my readers, for I am a firm believer in learning from others' mistakes, and I would hate nothing more than all of you making the same mistake that I did, simply because I was too lazy to pass on my life's learnings, thinking, only too selfishly, that no good could come of it, and failing to realize that it may, in fact, lead many to salvage a lot more when faced by a somewhat similar situation.
Never underestimate a woman's intelligence. It can lead to potentially fatal consequences.
My primary aim fulfilled, I think I shall go now. However, before I bid adieu, I shall leave you with the Sasta for the Day.
There are, primarily, three races of man.
The 100 meter race, the 400 meter race, and the Marathon.
The date, incidentally, was 6th October, 3018 (1418, Shire-Reckoning).
posted by Manu Saxena at 4:20:00 pm
11 comments
11 Comments:
So much for ze return, Manu.
Advertise, promote and get people to comment.
Honestly, the only bit I really liked was the part about the three races.
most mail clients have calendars that send reminder mails.if forgetting birthdays does bother u, use it. and there is also something called birthday alarm that keeps sending reminder mails...
Agastya's right.. never saw the races coming.
so long, and thanks for all the fish.
often i find myself with the same predicament, the only difference being absence of memory cells in my case. (if you find a better excuse from your readers let me know)
Your post was quite long, though to your credit it ended quite well.
Talking about races, I'm a bigtime racist.
I mean I try to rush through everything, hurry everything up ... like in a race, you see...
Whoever thought it was satte pe satte... It was saste pe sasta, mefriend.
:P
Agastya and Anjul, I'm glad you found something in the post you found entertaining. Most people do, when they visit this space. :P
Priestess, thank you. I will try all of them out. I am very doubtful as to their potential efficacy in my case, but then, why not?
SV, why the clichéd adieu?
!Xobile, good for you, man. Good for you.
well, to reiterate metaphorically that i enjoyed all your posts, some more, some less; I used that cliché.
Seems like no body else has a better excuse than mine.
ciao
i chanced upon your site and read a few of your posts.very entertaing. very wodehousean. which leads me to assume you must read a lot of wodehouse. which leads me to assume one has class for when one reads wodehouse one does have,what is called,class. however it could perhaps,just be a very freaky coincidence. even so,good stuff. in this case it would lead me to remark that your style reminds me of wodehouse.
There is,in fact, nothing more satisfying than telling someone to either shut their gob(i love that word)or to go stick their heads in pigs. No words make a point as much as this does. Another noteworthy clincher in arguments,although in bengali but still effective, is 'tomar ponde tiktikki dhukiye debo'. A direct translation would be 'your ass in lizard stuff up will'. The basic idea,however, would be 'a lizard will be stuffed up your ass'.
Your skill with the English language leaves me speechless. And considering it's me we're talking about here, that is saying quite a bit.
thank ye, thank ye..i try *shrugs modestly(her shoulders,that is)*. The reason i'm posting in both places is because i dont know any better.You see, I'm rather new in this blogworld(a couple of centuries late i agree).I would be grateful if you could tell me what the proper thing to do is.For now, to avoid copying and pasting,and to avoid the distinct feeling of having read this somewhere before, creeping up on you,ill continue on my comment page.
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